


Stick With Your Village

by Insidiae



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insidiae/pseuds/Insidiae
Summary: "Here's the deal," Stark says, his face half-full of jelly doughnut, "I didn't fly a nuke through a wormhole just for Justin goddamn Hammer to reverse engineer alien technology and make super bullets that will kill all my friends.  I need your help, here."***The last thing Luke Cage expects after being arrested--again--is for Tony Stark to pay him a personal visit, but here he is.  Recruited to help Tony find answers, Luke's world is about to get a whole lot bigger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's the Luke & Tony road trip fic that literally nobody asked for!!
> 
> What I'm really trying to do here is create a bridge between the larger MCU and the Netflix universes. We all know it's going to happen eventually, and probably more elegantly than I've written here, but I have to think that Tony would hear about the Judas bullets one way or another and would be very much extremely unhappy about them and frankly I expect the MCU will probably just gloss over that!! which i think is unrealistic. anyway. road trip fic. it'll be great.
> 
> As a side, I actually know where I'm going with a fic for once, so I have direction, but any constructive criticism or other comments would be wholly appreciated.
> 
> You can catch me on tumblr at jewishleviackerman.tumblr.com

 

" _You want to raise a child? Stick with your village. But if you want to save a kingdom... call in the crew."_

_-Luke Cage, Earth 616_

 

_***_

 

Tony first hears about Cage from Peter, actually.

In the wake of the hot mess that was the Sokovia Accords affair, Tony spends less time around New York.  Avengers Tower lays largely abandoned outside the bottom floors that still house the East coast branch of SI’s R&D department.  Too many soured memories there, at the moment, plus Tony has more pressing issues to attend to.

Malibu isn’t so hot in the memory department either, but California _does_ have some of the best physical therapists in the country, and there at least he can help oversee Rhodey’s recovery.  Nominally, Tony is also supposed to be looking for Cap and his band of merry fugitives after their breakout from the Raft, but being in California has the added bonus of a three hour time difference between Tony’s location and Ross’s in D.C., which limits the amount of time the Secretary of State can ride him for the admittedly (purposefully) half-assed job he’s doing.

The truth is, he’d be pretty okay cutting all ties with New York at this point.  Historically, he’s been pretty good with that sort of thing—he drops people like flies all the time, it’s getting them to stick around that ever proves a challenge.  And yet, as much as he’d promised himself that after the shit job Howard did with him, he’d never do the parenting thing (he’d even gone so far as to get a vasectomy a few years ago; no need to have someone with a bastard claiming he knocked them up for his money), he can’t help but hold a soft spot for Peter.  The kid is brilliant, and just sort of genuinely good in a way Tony wasn’t prepared for.  The whole radioactive spider thing is also pretty neat, even for someone who doesn’t specialize in biology.  And his aunt is mega hot.

So they Skype.  And while Tony is off gallivanting through the USA _totally_ trying to find his former teammates--you got it, absolutely, Mr. Secretary, sir--Peter is stuck in Queens in high school (what a nightmare, Tony thinks, he was halfway through MIT by that age), and despite Tony’s protests, the kid makes sure he is totally up to date on all the madness New York continues to offer.

“Have you heard about the devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Mr. Stark, Trish Walker is on the radio talking about mind control!”

“Tony, have you _seen_ Luke Cage?  He’s bulletproof!  Also he like, got into a fight that half-destroyed Harlem.  I think.”

Of course, Tony sort of knows about these things, even if he doesn’t have an active ear to the ground about them.  Old Thunderbolt wants him to keep tabs on any superhuman activity, but there’s a big difference between a set a laws designed to govern the work of a group of international vigilantes, and monitoring common civilians just trying to live their lives.  That kind of invasion of privacy runs a little too HYDRA for Tony’s taste.

Cage’s story interests him at first on a lark.  His first reaction is to think of Bruce—poor Harlem just can’t seem to catch break.  Peter sends him the youtube link of his fight with Diamondback.  He watches with mild interest; they both have serious moves, and it seems that Cage at least isn’t a massive asshole, if the crowd cheering for him is anything to go by.  He could be a useful team member some day in the future, when there’s a team again at all.  Halfway through the video, though, Tony’s interest becomes considerably more invested, when he hears one name out of Diamondback’s mouth.

Hammer.

HammerTech.

Hammer Hammer Hammer.

Tony bites the inside of cheek hard enough to draw blood.

Justin Hammer should be rotting away on Ryker’s Island.  Tony hasn’t heard anything about his release.  And, in any case, he knows Hammer well enough to know he could never make anything like the suit Stryker is wearing, or the bullets the police have loaded into their guns.

Either Hammer got out, and got seriously smarter, or someone else is using his name and company to produce weaponry no one on this planet should have.  Neither option particularly appeals to Tony.

 

*

 

“Where is Justin Hammer?”

“Oh, Mr. Stark,” Secretary Ross says, hostility dripping from every word, “how nice of you to call.”

“Cut the shit, Thunderbolt, and tell me where he is.”

There’s a methodic silence from the other end of the line.  Tony stares at the phone and rattles a pencil against his desk.  “Don’t you think you should be spending more time focusing on prisoners that have escaped from their jails, rather than the ones who are sitting pretty in their cells?”

Tony ignores the million pointed jabs on the tip on his tongue and gets to the point.  “Yeah, well I have reason to believe he isn’t sitting so pretty, so just tell me where he is.”  At more silence, he adds, “Listen, either you give me the feed to his cell or I hack into it, it’s your choice.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.”  Ross’s sigh is audible.  “I’m sending the feed to you now.  He’s right where he’s supposed to be.”

Tony gives Ross a minute to access the right server and send the video link to Tony’s tablet.  His right leg bounces in agitation the whole time.  Eventually, the feed pops up on his screen.  Hammer is sitting in his cell, looking about as miserable as he ought to.

“Happy?”

Tony looks over the feed, searching for any sign of tampering or deception.  “FRIDAY?”

“Checks out, boss.”

Tony leans back in his chair.  Okay.  Okay.  So Justin is still rotting away, as he should be. 

Then who is making this tech?

“Anything else I can do for you, Stark?” Even distorted across the line, Ross sounds far too smug for a man with a group of outlaw vigilantes giving him the slip.  Tony wonders what he has up his sleeve; the possibilities make him feel ill.

“Yeah, actually, there is.”  Tony can feel a hot rush of rage wash over him.  He can’t believe this is how Bruce feels, all the time.  “You can tell me why the U.S. government didn’t seize control of the assets of a man who committed a major act of both terrorism and treason and nearly wrecked Corona.  What the hell is HammerTech still doing active in the private sector?  And who the fuck is running the show there if my good buddy Justin is still behind bars?”

Ross hums.  “The wheels of capitalism continue to turn, Tony.”  Tony shudders; he _hates_ it when Ross uses his first name.  He sounds so much like Obie.  “As of now, the board is in charge of things while Hammer does his time.  You have to understand, HammerTech has always been good to our boys in blue.  And green.  And camo.”  A pause, and then, “It’s a shame, but we have to make sure our armed forces are, well, armed.  And there’s such a short supply of good weapons manufacturers these days.”

Tony’s jaw aches.  He’s clenching it so hard he can hear his teeth grind, echoing through his skull.  “The board isn’t designing new weapons.  Who’s the chief engineer?”

“Now that I don’t know,” Ross says, and he sounds pained to admit it.  Tony can’t help a small smile; these days, it’s the small things that count.  “But whoever it is, they’re a genius—smarter than even you, hotshot.  These Judas bullets are something else!” He laughs.  It sounds like shrieking to Tony’s ears.  “I bet they could even bring down Banner!”

Tony’s smile turns cold and empty.  Even without being able to see it, it feels like a grimace.  “Suck a fat one, Thaddeus,” he says, and he hangs up before the Secretary of State can reply.

 

*

 

Councilwoman Dillard’s identification of him on public television makes Carl Lucas a very easy man to track down.

Seagate’s nasty business; Tony should know, he had a small hand in designing the security systems there when it first went up.  But Tony scans through the court records and struggles to figure out how Lucas ended up there.  The prosecution’s argument is full of holes; nothing adds up right.  Tony hasn’t been much of a gambling man since Afghanistan, but he would wager good money that Lucas was set up.

That’s about all the surface information that’s available on Carl Lucas, but it doesn’t take much digging into the deep web to find more.  Tony watches the fight ring videos with a strange mix of horror and fascination.  Even before his apparent superhuman transformation—which is clearly when these videos were filmed, as Lucas still bleeds like any other mortal man—Lucas’ body was a work of art.  His attacks are efficient: not cruel, not done to draw out pain of to slake some sadistic thirst, but brutal and effective nonetheless.  His fighting skills are definitely impressive, but Tony finds himself even more impressed with the quiet dignity that Lucas holds himself with under such inhumane conditions.

It’s a hell of a lot better than Tony managed during his own captivity.

 

*

 

As Tony researches, he finds there’s a name that keeps popping up: Dr. Noah Burstein.  At a very base level, Tony doesn’t get him.  He’s a well-respected geneticist.  He doesn’t belong at a place like Seagate.

But then, Tony didn’t belong in Afghanistan.  A nasty truth Tony has recently come to terms with is that if one part of an equation doesn’t work, another part will compensate.  If the worker doesn’t belong, then his grisly work does.

(Also, there’s the whole “his dad was a Nazi” thing, but Tony doesn’t hold that against Burstein too much, even with the new light that it shines on his research.  He thinks of Wanda, of Zemo, of HYDRA’s full infiltration of SHIELD; these days, who doesn’t know a Nazi?  God, Steve would have a conniption.

Tony rubs his thumbs against his temples. _Don’t think about Steve_.)

So, okay, maybe he wasn’t the most well-intentioned guy in the world, but Burstein’s research is impeccable, as far as Tony can discern.  Admittedly, even with four Ph.D.’s, Tony is no biologist.  It’s times like this that he _really_ misses Bruce.  Hell, he’d even take a Hank Pym right now to help him make sense of what he’s looking at, if the man hadn’t cut all ties with the Stark family and then completely disappear off the map years ago.

There’s a limited amount of information that Tony can glean from Seagate’s files.  Burstein’s notes there are sparse, and while more numerous, the notes of his assistant—one Reva Connors—are essentially useless, pieces of fluff used to pad up an otherwise almost entirely redacted file and give it legitimacy so no one asks any unwanted questions.  What’s more useful is the public files on the prison itself.  In 2010, Seagate suffers an explosion, a jailbreak, and Carl Lucas is presumed dead, likely drowned in the icy Atlantic waters surrounded the jail.  Connors and Burstein both go off the grid, never to be heard from again.  It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.  

Tony doesn’t know what, exactly, Burstein did to Lucas to give him superpowers, but he’s damn well going to find out.

He’ll give it to the guy—Burstein did a clean scrub of himself.  Witness Protection levels of new identity. Usually he’d be untraceable, but usually hackers don’t come with FRIDAY.  After all, Tony helped design the facial recognition software that located Loki in Stuttgart, even if he did want to be found.  Burstein isn’t a shapeshifting alien god, though, and Tony figures that will make it even out.  And he’s right; he’s halfway through his third cup of coffee in two hours, FRIDAY pings him: “Got a match, boss.”

Tony can’t help a snort at the result.  Suburban New Jersey, of course.  Why would anyone look for an AWOL, possibly Nazi researcher in New Jersey?  It’s simple work after getting a location match to sneak into Burstein’s home systems, and his notes there are much more extensive.  There’s a lot about cell elasticity that Tony hates to admit he doesn’t fully understand.  He goes through note after note, trying to wrap his head around decades of research in an area that is so not his expertise, and almost calls it quits for the night when he comes across an mp4 file—a video log.

Burstein is a pale, weaselly man.  He trembles in front of the camera, hands shaking as he sets it up, but there’s a bright smile on his face nonetheless.  Behind him is what appears to be the remains of a lab, torn apart from floor to ceiling.  Tables upturned, machinery ripped apart, burn marks on the walls.  Tony see a small fire still going in a back corner.  The whole place is a disaster.  Burstein keeps smiling.

 _“Carl Lucas is like nothing I’ve ever seen.  After Mitchell Tanners, I never thought I…”_ In the video, the doctor shakes his head and centers himself.  _”My father created the acid bath in conjunction with a split DNA serum as an attempt to create the German answer to Captain America.  It didn’t work, of course, my father wasn’t good enough.  But I am.  Anemone!  The key is anemone._ ”  Tony watches as he holds up a photo, a super magnified image of a cell.  _“The contractile fibers act in such a way that they give the patient incredible strength, and render his skin essentially bullet-proof._ ”  Burstein frowns, puts down the photo, and brings up another picture, this one an anatomical diagram.  There are two bright red spots on the body, one on the abdomen and the other on the right shoulder.  _“Except for these, of course.  What a mess!  Trying to reverse the effects of the bath long enough to remove the shrapnel was… a difficult affair.  Those Hammer bullets are something else…”_

Tony’s fingernails dig crescents into his palm.

 

*

 

Luke Cage is scheduled for a disciplinary hearing in New York to discuss both his false charges as well as his escape from prison.

The Mark 45 wraps around Tony’s body and he leaves California behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Foggy meet Stark and his young associate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy exposition Batman!
> 
> Quick note: my plan for this fic is to float back and forth between a limited third person perspective on Tony and limited third person perspective on Luke. Each chapter will alternate whose eyes we're seeing this from, which is why names change. I hope that comes through the way I want it to.

“I don’t think you get it.  _There is no case_.  Give me a single piece of hard evidence, no, excuse me, one piece of hard evidence that hasn’t been falsified—excuse me, I’m still talking!”

Luke watches Foggy pace around the limited space of the interrogation room.  He has a laptop balanced in his hands and a phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder.  Luke doesn’t know, anymore, who Foggy is speaking with; probably the DA, maybe the head of the prosecution.

“This is a complete mockery of justice,” Foggy tells the mystery caller.  “Oh, don’t condescend to me, I’m looking at the charges right now.”

Luke drops his head onto his hands.  The cool metal of the interrogation table feels heavenly against the sliver of Luke’s forehead that touches it.  He carefully avoids the table’s d-ring.  He knows he should be in handcuffs right now, but the police gave up on that particular precaution after he broke the first set accidentally while stretching for a yawn.

“Oh my God, how stupid do you think I actually am?”  Foggy puts the laptop down on the table, next to Luke’s head.  He pulls the phone away from his head, glares at it, and then puts his ear back to the receiver.  “That was a rhetorical question, but thank you, thanks so much.”

Luke rolls his head to the side and raises an eyebrow at Foggy.  Claire was the one who hooked him up when he was taken into custody, and Luke really is very grateful.  As far as he knows (which is not very far; Claire arranged the whole business), Foggy has chosen to represent him pro bono, which is great, since on top of all his other problems, Luke is dead broke.

(“He’s a good man,” Claire had told him, “And more importantly, a good lawyer.  You’re in good hands.”)

So yes, Luke is very grateful.  But he’s also exhausted.  Luke has spent all day—and the last two days, as well—sweating it out in this interrogation room as Foggy makes call after call after call.  Luke is hot, and he’s tired, and he’s bored out of his goddamned gourd.  God, but he’d forgotten just how _monotonous_ prison is.  He just wants a nap.  He closes his eyes, and Foggy’s voice melts away into the background.

Luke listens to the ambient sounds of the police station, the white noise lulling him to relaxation.  If he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the drip of a coffeemaker, the low murmur of private conversations, the ringing of phones, and a sound he’s all too familiar with from his time at Harlem’s Paradise—the clip of good shoes on cheap linoleum.  Luke’s eyes shoot open; those footsteps are coming straight for the interrogation room.

He raises his head when the door opens.  Foggy whips around to look at the newcomer and promptly drops his phone.

“Holy shit,” says Foggy.

“Holy shit,” says Luke.

“Hi, I’m Tony,” says Tony Stark as he walks into the room with a bright smile on his face.

Behind him trails a waif of a boy that Luke wouldn't figure for being older than 16, tops. The kid's eyes land on Luke and a huge grin splits his face. 

Stark also notices Luke and makes a beeline for him, only to be intercepted by Foggy, who has recovered from his stunned silence, in Luke’s opinion, surprisingly quickly. "Hey, hold up. What business do you have with my client?"

Stark gives him a flat look, and while he's staring Foggy down, the boy slips around him and takes a seat opposite Luke at the table. "My name’s Peter," he says, holding out his hand. His smile goes ear to ear. "I'm a big fan."

"Luke," Luke replies. Other than that, he doesn't move.  Peter, realizing that it’s not going to be shaken, slowly lowers his outstretched hand as his expression turns crestfallen; Luke avoids his gaze.

“I have some questions for him,” Stark tells Foggy, “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Foggy stays firm, and Luke has to admire his balls.  “You don’t do anything without me present.  My client has a right to legal counsel under questioning.”

“It’s not-!” Stark pauses, pinches the bridge of his nose.  He takes a quick look at Peter, hesitating, then says, “Fine, do what you want.”  Not waiting for Foggy’s approval, he takes the seat next to Peter and pulls a phone out of his suit jacket, which expands to the size of a tablet when he places it on the table.  Luke has seen some cutting edge technology, but this is a whole other level; he lets out a low whistle and Stark smirks at him with the confidence and pride of a man who knows he has the best toys. 

Foggy settles into the final seat next to Luke.  “You don’t have to say anything,” he tells him, face completely serious.

Stark rolls his eyes.  “I think the man know his Miranda Rights,” he says, eyes focused on the screen of his tablet.  They flick up just long enough for him to add, “After all, this isn’t your first rodeo with the wrong side of the law, is it, Mr. Lucas?”

Luke takes a deep breath.  “I prefer Cage.”

“So I’ve heard.”  Stark interlaces his fingers and rests his chin on them.  “Look, I’ll get straight to the point.  I have a proposition for you, and I’m really hoping you’ll be straight with me here. I’m not a cop, I’m a private citizen, and I’m here out of pure self-interest.  I’m not here to interrogate you, and I’m not here to put you back in jail.”  He swipes his fingers over his screen.  “In fact, I have a vested interested in keeping you out—for the moment, at least.  Have you ever heard of Justin Hammer?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Foggy repeats.  Luke waves him down with a placating hand.

“Maybe?” Luke searches his memory.  “Name rings a bell.  Didn’t something go down with him in Queens a few years ago?”

“If by something, you mean a hostile takeover of my technology and Expo, culminating in my attempted murder and a terrorist attack causing six billion dollars of damage, then yes, _something_ went down with him.”  Stark exhales a harsh breath, placing his palms flat on the table.  “Sorry, touchy subject.  You may not know the man himself, but I believe you know his work.  Friday, would you be a dear?”

A feminine voice comes out of his tablet: “You got it boss!”

Foggy grins. “Secretary?”

“Don’t insult me,” Stark says as a hologram blossoms out of the tablet’s screen.  Foggy’s smile disappears, his jaw closing with a snap.  Both he and Luke stare at the light, mesmerized, as it forms into a beautifully high-definition image of a bullet.  “Look familiar?”

The muscles in Luke’s abs and shoulder twitch.  He still feels the ghost of his wounds from time to time.  “Judas bullets.”

“Got it in one!  Now, full disclosure, I don’t think Justin Hammer himself is behind this, partly because he’s rotting in prison, but mostly because Justin Hammer is a fucking idiot who couldn’t tie his own shoelaces if he didn’t have a paid assistant helping him.  But even if this isn’t Justin’s doing, someone is using his name to make weapons I don’t fully understand . . . weapons that are a direct, implicit threat to people I care about, and I only have very limited number of those.”  Stark sighs and waggles his hand.  The hologram disappears beneath his fingers.  “I’ve seen the videos.  The bullets . . .  they’re the things of nightmares.  I have no idea how they work; I’ve done the math, and the numbers don’t add up.  The amount of torque and heat applied to each shot to make it do what they do, with the drilling and whatnot—well, I won’t bore you with the details, but it shouldn’t work.”  Stark looks at Luke expectantly.

“Okay, that’s  . . .  good to know, I guess,” Luke says slowly, “but what do you want from me?”

“You’re the only person who’s survived these things, and that was a close call, from what I gather from Dr. Burstein.”

Luke sits up straight in the chair, eyes hard and alert.  “How do you know that name?”

“Unimportant—though I don’t know him personally, if it makes you feel any better, which, given what he did to you—I mean, yikes—who knows?  What is important is that you have first-hand experience with these little assholes, invaluable experience.  I also know you’ve tangled with other parts of the gun smuggling trade around here, which means you have even more past contact with HammerTech.  Not to mention the suit Willis Stryker was wearing when you took him down.”  Stark’s forefinger taps the screen of the tablet, _click click click._   “I want these bullets, these weapons, _gone._   Off the street, off the police force, off the fucking planet.  I’m guessing you’re not too thrilled about having them around either.  You’re the best lead I’ve got right now.  Help me find who’s making them, and help me stop them.”

It’s a lot to take in.  Luke purses his lips together.  The Judas bullets are a threat he can’t ignore, and he’d do a lot to make them disappear forever.  On the other hand, charging off with Tony Stark—Tony Stark!—to find the person responsible . . . well, it’s a lot to consider.  He opens his mouth—to say what, he isn’t sure, maybe just to ask for more time to think about it—but Foggy beats him to the punch.

“Absolutely not.  Even if going off half-cocked with an internationally-known billionaire vigilante to do . .  .”  Foggy narrows his eyes.  “What is it exactly you even want to do?  No, don’t answer that.  Even if that was a good idea—which, I need to be very clear here, it is not, it is a _terrible_ idea and as a lawyer I cannot stress enough how very bad it is—Mr. Cage’s arraignment is in two days, and he’s not allowed to leave Manhattan until it’s over.”

Stark whistles.  “No it’s not.”

“What?”

“The arraignment.  It’s been cancelled.”  Stark blinks across the table at both Luke and Foggy.  “Oh, did I not tell you?  I’ve cleared you of all charges.  You’re a free bird.”

A stone drops in Luke’s stomach.  Static buzzes in his ears.  Stark, Foggy, the interrogation room, they all seem at a distance, now; blurry.  Foggy clenches his fists in the seat beside him, radiates frustration and impatience, and Luke barely even notices. 

He has his freedom.

Can it be that easy?

The scenery comes back to him slowly.  It feels like waking up from a vivid dream, like coming back into his body from a higher point.  Foggy is speaking; his voice clarifies and sharpens in Luke’s ears in a rolling wave.  “You can’t do that.”

Stark snorts a laugh.  “That’s funny, because I just did.”

“You said it yourself: you’re a private citizen.  You don’t have that kind of power.”

“I work for the government on contract.”

Foggy scowls.  “Civilians don’t get decide the law, no matter how much money they have.”

“I straddle a fine line.”

“Hey, enough,” Luke says.  His head hurts.  “You really can get me off?  Clear me of everything?”

Stark shrugs.  “Like I said, it’s already done.  It’s not conditional on whether you help me out, by the way.”  He nods towards Foggy.  “You would think your lawyer would be happier about this.”

“Good news for my client or not, this is still a massive abuse of power.  How the hell do you get away with this?”

“Look,” Stark says, “In other situations I wouldn’t do this, but here the outcome was inevitable.  They were never going to lock you up again.  I just greased things to speed them along.”  He turns to Luke, but his focus somehow stays on Foggy.  “There’s really no solid case against you, and you actually have a decent lawyer.”  He looks fully at Foggy and adds, “Nice job on the Castle case, by the way.  Shame about your defendant fucking it up royally for you.”

Foggy sneers.  “Thanks.”

“For a small firm, Nelson and Murdock has a pretty solid track record,” Stark says, and the smile on his face is small, but genuine.  “By the way, where _is_ the Ray Charles half of your little duo?”

Foggy tenses; Luke sees his shoulders rise and his lips twist into a snarl.  “Matt’s out of town on personal business.”

“You don’t say?  You know, I’ve seen him on the news.”  There’s a strange glint, something Luke puts as being between suspicion and slyness in Stark’s eyes as he says, “He has great spatial awareness for a blind guy.”

If anything, Foggy tenses even more.  His muscles freeze, lock up.  “Matt lost his eyesight when he was pretty young.  You adjust to those kinds of disabilities after a while.”

Stark hums.  His fingers drum out a beat against the center of his chest, right over his sternum.  “So you do.”

Luke looks between the two of them, at an obvious standoff, and shakes his head.  “Not that I’m not grateful, but I still have to say I don’t understand how you’re swinging this.”

Stark stares at him—really concentrates on him with the full force of his focus for the first since he arrived.  Luke struggles not to wither under the intensity of his gaze, and its sudden sobriety.  “Like I said,” he starts, slow, his words measured, each one carefully considered.  “I’m not . . . I wouldn’t usually do this.  This is—you are—a special case.”  He picks up the tablet and turns it towards Luke.  Videos play across the screen, news clips Luke recognizes from the last few years: Sokovia, DC, _The Incident_.  “The truth is, no court in the world is prepared to deal with, with people like us.  The world is getting bigger every day, but legislation takes time.  How do you convict a thief who moves faster than the speed of light and can’t get caught on camera?  Or a murderer who can create clones of himself and have multiple alibis?  You have a good lawyer, and a good defense, and they can’t in good conscience convict you, but that doesn’t matter.  Average people are scared, and as long as you’re alive, they’re going to see you as a threat.”  Stark’s eyes grow glazed and distant.  “I’ve seen myths come true.  I’ve seen whole other beautiful, terrible worlds.  The universe is expanding, and it’s bigger than you or me.  It’s bigger than Earth.  You’re part of that now, whether you want to be or not.”

Stark clears his throat and blinks his eyes.  Luke ignores the tears there, and the raw emotion on the man’s face; it’s only polite.  “Peter, would you like to demonstrate?”

Next to Stark, the boy perks up, immediately alert.  Embarrassing as it is to admit, Luke had forgotten he was even there.  He’s so small, and quiet, and unassuming; Luke guesses he’s the type to get bullied in school.

Peter glances at Stark, as if asking permission.  “Are you sure I can really do it?”

Stark’s eyes flick to Foggy.  “If you’re okay with the fourth Hanson brother over here seeing, go ahead.  I had Friday disable all the surveillance equipment in here the moment we stepped in.”

That’s enough to get Foggy livid all over again.  “You did _what?_ ”

“I have people to protect.”  Stark’s hand claps down on Peter’s shoulder, and the kid smiles faintly up at him. “The police don’t need to see or hear this.”

“That is . . .” Foggy stares at his hands.  His mouth gapes, words eluding him.  “This is so unbelievably illegal, I’m honestly not sure where to start.”

Stark waves him off. “Trust me, it’s better for everyone this way.  You can record personally, if you’d really like to.”

“You’re damn right I do!”  Foggy pats his suit jacket pockets for his phone.  Luke can see the exact moment he remembers that he dropped it when Stark came into the room.  He scrambles for it on the floor.  “Shit,” he hisses as he picks it up.  Luke sneaks a peek; the screen is completely cracked.  “Okay,” Foggy says, settling back into the chair, “I may not be able to record anything, but I’m watching you, buddy.” He points to his eyes and then back and Stark.

“And I’m very intimidated.” Stark snaps his fingers.  “Petey?”

“Alright!” Peter claps his hands together, licks his lips.  At a roll of Stark’s eyes, he sobers up.  “Mr. Cage,” he says with great, practiced formality, “I’d like to arm wrestle you.”

Peter’s elbow lands with a solid _thunk_ on the table, hand up, palm open, ready to receive Luke’s.  Luke’s eyebrows shoot way up.  “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He’s not sure who he’s asking more: Stark or Peter.

“What,” Stark smirks, “afraid of a teenager?”

“Man, come on, I’m not going to crush your kid.”

Stark holds up a finger.  “First of all, not my kid.”

“I’m a Stark Industries intern!”

Stark spares Peter a brief look, one of fond exasperation.  “Right.”  Another finger joins his first.  “Second, you never know, he might surprise you.”

Foggy puts up a hand.  “My client is abnormally strong.   We don’t need the added trouble of an assault case on our hands because he accidentally breaks all the bones in your intern’s hands.  No offense.”

Peter smiles, bland and accepting, but doesn’t move his arm.  “None taken.”

Stark waves a dismissive hand.  “We take full responsibility and waive liability, yada yada yada.”

Luke really examines Peter.  Rough estimates put the kid at five and a half feet tall, maybe 120 pounds.  He shakes his head.  No way, he thinks, and that’s when Peter meets his gaze with the most vicious set of puppy eyes Luke has ever had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of.

“Please, Mr. Cage?  It’s really important.”

Luke sends a desperate glance to Foggy.  Foggy shrugs helplessly back.  Luke sighs and resigns himself to something he already knows he’ll regret.  He takes Peter’s hand in his own, handling it as if he were made of glass.  If he just doesn’t push back at all, he figures, everything will be fine.  Probably.

“Yes!  Thank you!”  Peter’s free hand pumps once into the air as his other fingers wrap firmly around the back of Luke’s palm.  It’s a stronger grip than Luke would have expected.  “Okay, here we go.  Three . . . two . . . one . . . “

Luke makes his arm go lax.

Peter slams his arm into the table with enough force to dent it.

Foggy leaps out his chair. “Jesus Christ!”

Yeah, that about sums it up for Luke, too.  “Sweet Christmas,” he says as he stares at the warped metal.

Stark laughs.  “Nice swing, kid!”

“He didn’t push back.”  Peter turns to Stark with genuine panic written across his face.  “He was supposed to push back.”

“Yeah, well, in retrospect, we probably should have realized the known superhuman wasn’t going to go full-out on a kid who looks like he could be knocked over by stiff autumn wind,” Stark says with a grin.  “Hindsight is 20/20, and all that.  How unfair is that, though?  Lead a team of superheroes, and I’m the only dickbag without super-strength.”

“Mr. Stark, this isn’t funny! I just busted police property.  They’re going to throw me in jail!”  He buries his face in his hands and groans.  “Aunt May is going to kill me.”

“You’re not going to jail.”  Stark rubs an awkward hand over Peter’s back.  Watching them, it strikes Luke that while Stark may be used to receiving affection (and Luke has seen interviews and tabloids, Stark receives _a lot_ of affection), returning it doesn’t seem to be the most natural reaction to him.  “Trust me, if your aunt finds out that I took you to see an ex-con instead of showing you how to dip silicon wafers, we’d both be dead, and I like to think I still have good few years left in me, intergalactic invasions notwithstanding.”  He gestures to Luke.  “It’s fine, we can just blame it on him.  It was kind of his fault really, if you think about it.  He was supposed to push back.”

“Um, hell no?” Foggy interrupts.  He can’t quite seem to tear his eyes away from the dipping table.  “Even if you did just clear him of all charges, I’m not about to let my client get falsely accused of something else, no matter how small the crime.”

Peter gives Stark a pointed look, and the man strokes his goatee in contemplation.  “Alright fine, I’ll take the hit.”  The fingers off his right hand fumble at his watch.  “I always do, after all,” he grumbles, lower, as bright metal unfolds itself from his wrist and covers his hand.

Luke has seen Iron Man before, of course, in the same way every person who hasn’t been living under a rock for the last decade has seen it.  For years, Tony Stark and his suits have filled the news.  He was the first superhero (unless you counted Captain America, and until a few years ago Luke and most of the rest of the world had thought he was just a normal man made heroic by propagandist comics; jury’s still out on whether the current guy is even the real deal).  Even in Seagate, you couldn’t really escape him; Luke remembers sitting in the rec room and watching live coverage of the Stark Expo, although the details of the terrorist attack that followed remain fuzzy.

But seeing Iron Man in real life—even just this tiny piece of the suit—it’s something else, something more, something truly surreal—even more so than meetings its creator.  The colors are flashier, the purest red and the purest gold Luke has ever laid eyes on.  In the center of the gauntlet’s palm rests the brightest light.  Where did the glove even come from?  How was it packed away into a watch?

What kind of madman _is_ Stark?

Said madman flexes his fingers.  The joints glide smoothly, the faintest whisper metal crossing metal the only sound made.  “I’ve been having issues with the mobile versions anyway.  We’ll call it a repulsor malfunction.”

Luke has no words, so he grunts his agreement.  In the face of something like the armor, it feels rather pathetic.

“Anyway.” _Tink_.  Stark’s gauntleted fingers rap a staccato beat on the table.  “There’s a reason I brought my young associate here along with me, and I reason I asked him to demonstrate what he’s capable of.  I get it if you don’t trust me or want to work with me, I do.  Historically speaking, being my friend hasn’t worked out so hot for a lot people.  I’m an asshole.  It’s not exactly a secret.  And if it was just my ass on the line, I wouldn’t be here.”  He reaches over to ruffle Peter’s hair, who bats him away with whined, “ _Mr. Stark!”_

“But it’s not just me.  It’s people I care about, who want nothing to do with this. It’s innocent people, who are going to be targeted just because other people are scared of them.  Is my beef with Hammer personal?  Hell yeah.  But that doesn’t change the fact that the mere existence of these Judas bullets is a very strong, if implicit threat against an entire community.”  Stark pushes away from the table, stands up.  The metal of the gauntlet melts back into his wristwatch plate by plate.   “Real talk, I don’t know who else to turn to.  The government won’t help; in fact, I have it on good authority that some important people there are _very_ fond of the new products coming from HammerTech.  I don’t have a real team anymore, just a loose band of misfits, and the rest of my energy is supposed to be dedicated to hunting the renegade former members down.” A wry smile falls across his face.  Stark rests his hand in one palm and stares Luke right in the eye.  “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

Luke hesitates.  After Reva, After Jessica, after being under Kilgrave’s thrall, after Cottonmouth and Dillard and putting Willis down, he feels an overwhelming desire, above all else, to do good.  He has his freedom, and for the first time, a choice of what to do with it.

And Stark is . . .  well, who says no to Tony Stark, these days?  Besides other Avengers, that is ( _and you might become one of them_ , a tiny voice whispers in his head.  He ignores it best he can).  “Is this—thing—you’re proposing, is it legal?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

Stark shrugs a shoulder.  “No promises.”

Foggy puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder.  “You don’t have to do this,” Foggy reminds him.  “In fact, I recommend against it.”

Luke shakes his head and Foggy groans in defeat.  “Alright, Leia.”  He holds out his hand and says, “You got yourself a man.”

Stark grins and shakes it.  Luke squeezes just a little too much, a reminder of what he can do if Stark is playing him.  To his credit, Stark winces but makes no move to let go, and Luke remembers that underneath the Ricci suits, the billionaire has taken a hit or two in his time and is no stranger to pain.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Luke huffs a laugh.  “You say anything that isn’t complete horseshit or a reference?”

Stark’s grin only brightens.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rest stop, and then the mystery is afoot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, a couple relationship tags have been added. they are present but not focused on. but you know! got to represent what you write.
> 
> diva is one of the three most expensive vodkas in the world, filter through diamond dust and in a bottle lined with precious stones. the ferrari f12berlinetta is a beautiful 2-seat sports car that is the successor to their flagship 588 line
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who's commented and kudo'd so far! it really means a lot to me as the fic runs progressively further and further away from my control.
> 
> as always you can follow me on tumblr at jewishleviackerman
> 
> smooches

The three of them—Tony, Peter, and Cage—leave the 28 th precinct together.  Nelson, knowing when to give up the ghost, excused himself first and grabbed the C back to Hell’s Kitchen.  Tony knows the look he had in his eyes, though; it’s the look of a man who isn’t giving up.  Cage will have himself a lawyer, whether he wants one or not.

The first thing Cage does when they step outside is stretch his arms.  The early October weather in New York is starting cool, but the summer heat lingers and Cage arches towards the sun.  The corner of Tony’s mouth ticks upwards; he remembers the feeling of first sunlight after captivity intimately.  Even in the scorching heat of the Afghanistan desert, the natural light and warmth had brought a new vitality to Tony after weeks spent in the literal darkness of his cave; he can only imagine how good it feels to Cage in the damp autumn air.

“Anyone up for a walk?”  For once, Tony doesn’t feel in any particular rush, and he’s loathe to take Cage back inside somewhere--even a subway or a cab--when he looks so happy to be out.

Cage cracks his neck, a content smile on his face.  “Yeah, a walk sounds good.”  Peter shrugs; the longer it takes to get back downtown, the longer he gets to stay out of class.

They stroll down Frederick Douglass until it turns back into Central Park West.  Cage’s stomach starts growling by the time they hit 90th, loud enough that Tony raises his eyebrows at it.  Cage grins back.  They stop at one of the many Halal carts in front of the AMNH and Tony treats them all to lunch, laughing when he notices shawarma on the menu (Peter and Cage get gyros, anyway, while Tony chooses falafel for this round).

They eat and walk with few words passing between them.  Tony finds himself surprised by how comfortable the silence feels.  Chatter comes naturally him (and god had Steve gotten on his case about it during missions--stop,  _ don’t think about Steve _ , come on, how many times do we have to go through this?) and silences almost always feel awkward.  He’s been around Peter enough at this point to know that the kid is a regular chatterbox himself, often blurting out whatever he’s thinking without actually pausing to consider his words first.

But Cage keeps quiet, and Tony really does get it.  Half of him is still shocked he managed to convince Cage to come with him in the first place.  Outside of extenuating circumstances, put onto him by other asshole people he knows, Cage strikes Tony as the kind of man who has his shit together--or at least would, if people would just leave him in peace.  Tony’s life on the other hand . . . well, he muses, “not together” would be putting it lightly.  People like Cage don’t want to to get involved with people like Tony, like, ever.  Tony certainly doesn’t expect him to get all chummy-chummy right off the bat.

So Cage stays quiet.  But he smiles, and he seems at least okay, and Peter chews noisily at his lamb, and Tony finds that that is enough.

When they reach 60th, Tony starts leading them crosstown.  They stop at 57th Street just long enough to put Peter on a F train back to Queens, despite his protests (“I don’t  _ care _ how many suits of armor I have, if you’re not home by four, your aunt  _ will kill me _ , and I like living, despite what some of my behavior may suggest”) and then it’s right onto Park.

The two of them skirt around tourists taking selfies in front of the Tower as Tony leads Cage to the side, employees’ entrance.  Remarkably, between a combination of Tony’s sunglasses and Cage’s relatively new relationship with fame, neither of them get recognized on the way in.  Tony laughs in relief as the glass door whispers shut behind them, which abruptly cuts off as he turns around.

“Hello, Tony,” Pepper says.

Tony’s heart leaps up to his throat.  Pepper’s hair is falling out of her bun.  There are bags under her eyes.  The bright red nail polish on her fingers is chipping.  She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“Pep,” he says.

Pepper presses her lips together.  She sticks the tablet she’s holding under her armpit so she can stick out her arm.  “How nice of you to drop by, unannounced, with company.”  She offers he hand to his companion.  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cage.”

Tony snorts.  He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Pepper knows who he is; Pepper knows everything.  What does surprise him is Cage taking her hand, her dainty, chipped fingernails swallowed by his larger palm, and saying, “Luke, please, and the pleasure is mine, Ms. Potts.”  Tony gives him a shocked look and Cage rolls his eyes.  “I was living in prison, not under a rock, and she’s been on the cover of every major magazine of the last four years.  Reading is one of the few things you actually are allowed to do behind bars.”

“Well, if my reputation proceeds me,” Pepper demures, “I’m glad at least to hear that it seems to do so well.”  Cage lets go of her hand.  He looks completely charmed.  Pepper has that effect on people.

“So,” Tony says.  He tries to hold eye contact with Pepper.  He tries to be a little less in love with her.  He fails on both accounts.  “How did you know I was here?”

Pepper turns on her heel and starts walking to the main lobby of the building with the confidence of a woman who knows people with follow her.  They do.  “FRIDAY notified me when you landed in New York, and again as you approached the Tower.”

Tony raises his wrist to eye level to peer at his watch.  “Traitor,” he mutters.  FRIDAY makes the clock’s face flash an angry red in response.  What a brat.

They step into the lobby, and the bustle of Stark Industries hits all at once.  There are times when Tony regrets keeping the Tower open at all, but by the time the Great Bucky Barnes Debacle had gone down--hell, by the time Ultron had happened--the R&D branch was so firmly ingrained in the first few levels that he didn’t really have anywhere to move them.

(He watches Pepper’s back.  _ You’re not the CEO anymore _ , a tiny voice tells him,  _ it’s not your choice to make anyway _ .)

“Nice place,” Cage says, genuine admiration coloring his voice as SI researchers push by him, most too absorbed in their work to even notice the stranger in their midst.

Pepper pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  “Thanks,” she says as she fields any number of people running up to her with urgent matters.  She signs papers, clicks tablets, tries on a pair of glasses that project a screen in front of her eyes and nods.  “We’re going through renovations.  You know how it is.  Leading technology company, got to stay on top of our game.”  She breathes out a sigh as the crowd around her starts to disperse.  Once the three of them are left to themselves, she brings them over to the waiting area of the lobby, where she takes a seat in a very modern, ergonomic chair (Tony always hated those things but Pepper insisted when they were designing the Tower together and when it came to such tiny details Pepper always got her way). Tony takes a seat next to Cage in an overly-plush couch across from her.  “So, what brings you back to my side of the continent, and with such unusual company, no less?” She sends a wink Cage’s way to let him know she means no offense.

There’s a lot of things Tony could say to that.  It’s not  _ her side _ of the continent, first of all, even if they were never truly married, it’s not as though Pepper got  _ New York _ in the divorce.  Cage is--well, okay, he’s more unusual than many of Tony’s acquaintances, but he’s less unusual than several others, so Tony figures he ought to break even there.  But he doesn’t say this.

Instead, Tony hesitates.

The pleasant smile on Pepper’s face turns frigid.  “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Tony gulps audibly.  Chitauri got nothing on Potts’ wrath.

“Ms. Potts, if I may,” Cage speaks up, surprising Tony for the second time in as many minutes.  “I’ve only known Mr. Stark for a couple hours, and I’m still not frankly sure what to think of him.” Tony huffs but otherwise doesn’t interrupt.  Fair enough.  “He did get me out of jail, though, so I’m feeling pretty inclined to at least hear him out.  It so happens that I actually also think he has a good idea, although,” and he side-eyes Tony, “I think I may start to question his methods real soon.  What I know for sure--having been on the sorry end of a couple myself--is that there are some insanely dangerous weapons out there and I think it’s in everyone’s best interests that they get destroyed.  If Mr. Stark can do that, and he thinks I can help, then I figure I don’t have much else to do that’s more important.”

Pepper turns sharply to Tony.  “We got rid of them all.  We made sure of that.”

Tony shakes his head. “Not SI.  Get this.”  He presses the side of his watch and FRIDAY projects the image of the Judas bullet again, the armed jet fighter that acts as HammerTech’s logo prominent on its side.  “Hammer.”

Pepper looks as dubious as Tony feels.  Even after some time, the thought of Hammer coming up with effective weaponry is a hard pill to swallow.  “That seems . . .  highly unlikely.”

“And not just because he’s in prison, I know.”

“Unlikely or not,” Cage says, “those things ripped my torso to shreds which, in all realness, I did not think was a thing that could happen anymore.”

“He’s right, I’ve seen the notes.”  Pepper opens her mouth and Tony can see the question on her lips.  “Don’t ask me how I found  them, you don’t want to know.  These bullets are just another step in what I can see will be a long line of anti-enhanced defenses.  It’s shit like this that leads to Project Insight and the Hulkbuster unit, and I want to stop that in its tracks.”

“Speaking of the Hulkbuster, what  _ does _ Ross think of all this?”

“What, the guns?  He’s thrilled.  Just because he’s got a cushier government job now doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have it out for Bruce--he just learned to hide it better.  If you’re talking about me busting Man of Steel over here out of jail and going off radar to pursue my own personal interests, I should think the obvious answer would be: he doesn’t know.”

Pepper leans her head back until it drops over the edge of the back of her chair.  “Tony, what are you going to do? Thaddeus has eyes everywhere.  You know what you’re supposed to be doing.  Where are you even going to go?  If he catches you  . . .”  She trails off.  Her point is clearly made. “Do you have any leads?”

“Yeah,” Cage says, “I’ve actually been wondering that myself.  What’s the plan, here?”

“There’s . . .” Tony waves his hand frantically in front of himself.  “Okay’s, there’s a lot of ways we can go here but I don’t really have definitive lead towards anything.  I was thinking of trying to break into HammerTech, but I don’t think even I could do that remotely, so we would have to sneak in, and I’d really like that to be our absolute last choice.”

“Last I checked, corporate espionage is also illegal,” Cage adds.  Pepper smiles and nods in his direction.  Tony waves them both off.

“I said it was the last choice.  I don’t think we have enough to go on yet, anyway, to have cause enough to breach them.  There are other channels I want to check first.”  His eyes flick to Cage.  “Less legitimate ones.”

Cage frowns, and then that frown turns into a scowl.  “I’m not a thug.”  His hands fist on his legs.  “I don’t appreciate the implication otherwise.”

Tony sighs.  “That really wasn’t what I was trying to say but--fair enough, I’m rewinding now and seeing how it came out wrong.  I only meant that you have to admit you’ve had a lot of contact with illicit Hammer products.  I don’t think it’s unreasonable to suspect that you might have a better idea of where they’re coming from, criminal connections or no.”

“I guess it’s not . . . totally unreasonable.” Cage puts a hand over his eyes.  “Sad to say no, though.  I must be the unluckiest guyon the planet.  Mixed up in all this mess, on the wrong end of some bad business, and I don’t know a damn thing about it.”

Pepper tsks.  She grips the stylus of her tablet between her teeth.  “So where does that leave us?”

“It leaves you right here,” Tony says firmly.  “Even if you didn’t have a company to run--”

“Your company Tony, it’s yours--”

“--I’m not dragging you into this.  I can’t do that to you.  Again.”

Pepper’s face softens, a wistful smile on her lips.  “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.  But you shouldn’t have to.”

Pepper hums, but Tony knows her expression is one of tentative acceptance.  “Well, I’m not just going to stay on the sideline, so what  _ can _ I do?”

“Look, I really just came back here to get some stuff for the road before we head out, ” Tony says, biting into his thumbnail, “but if you really want to help out, I suppose we could use someone keeping their ear to the ground about whatever HammerTech’s up to.  Can you get me the names of the Board members?  I need to know who’s running this show.”

Pepper stands up.  Tony follows suit, with Cage just behind him.  “Consider it done,” she says.  She holds out her hand to Tony, and as he reaches to shake it, she pulls him into a tight embrace.  “Promise you’ll be careful.”

Tears gather at the corners of his eyes.  He wraps his arms around her, presses his face into her neck.  She still smells the same.  “Aren’t I always?”

Pepper lets him go.  There are tears in her eyes, too, which makes him happier to see than it probably should, but she forces a smile through them.  “Luke,” she says, grabbing Cage’s hand, “please take care of my former boss.  He’s still my chief engineer, you know; I need him.”

Cage raises an eyebrow at Tony as he shakes on it.  “I’ll do my best.”

“Right.”  Pepper sniffs once and tucks another stray strand of hair behind her ear.  “Well.  Let me walk you to the elevator.”

The three of them wait in companionable silence while FRIDAY fetches their ride.  The doors open and Tony steps inside with Cage; when he turns around, he has just enough time to catch Pepper’s expression as it twists into a frown before the doors close again.

He exhales.  “FRIDAY, penthouse.”

“Going up!”

Like all his technology, his elevators are the fastest and most efficient int world, but 93 floors is still a lot to climb, and takes a good minute to get through.  After only a few seconds, Cage breaks the silence.

“So you never did mention where we’re going, if HammerTech is out.”

Tony winces.  No, he didn’t.  “I think you maybe won’t like it, is the thing,” he admits.

Cage purses his lips and folds his hands neatly in front of himself. “Try me.”

Tony bites his lip.  “New Jersey,” he says as the elevators opens on the top floor.  He glances back between the penthouse and Cage, who follows him at a much more subdued rate.  “Burstein.  I’m sure he’s got more information than what FRIDAY could get on her own from here.”

Cage says nothing to that, which is more concerning than almost any other reaction Tony can think of.  When he turns back to gauge his emotions, Cage looks cool as a cucumber.  He peers around the open space of Tony’s penthouse suite, an appropriate, but subtle amount of awe in his eyes at the sheer opulence of Tony’s lifestyle.  “I’ve been wondering about that,” he says, running his hands over the smooth granite of the bar.  Tony braces himself.  “Who is Friday?”

Tony doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s close thing.  “Not Friday, FRIDAY.” At the confused look Cage sends him, he adds, “I can hear your lack of capitalization.  It’s an acronym.  Failsafe Robotic Interface Designed to Answer Yes.  I’ve had some issues with rogue AIs in the past,” to put it mildly, “so while I encourage all my lovely intelligences to learn and grow, I’ve been a stricter parent with her.”

“He would ground me if it wouldn’t literally ground him,” FRIDAY chirps, and while Cage startles and glances at the ceiling (the natural reaction, Tony’s seen it enough times), he seems already to be getting used to her, a fact that is somehow both disappointing and comforting to Tony.

“So she’s just . . . everywhere?”

“Yep, everywhere I am, at least.”  Tony grins, and leaves Cage behind in the main living space to head into his bedroom, but not before calling over his shoulder, “Help yourself to a drink!”

“I’m good!” Cage calls back.  There’s a pause, in which Tony finds a duffel bag in his closet and empties it of its contents, then, “Although I can’t say I’m not tempted.  My god, is that Diva?  You know I used to be a bartender, I would’ve killed for alcohol that good.”

Tony smiles again, shoving clothes into the bag--jeans, band tees, hoodies.  He’s gone incognito before, he can do it again.  As he works, he thinks, suddenly, that he should probably pack some changes of clothes for Cage, too, except his clothes won’t fit--

Tony bites his lip.  His own clothes wouldn’t fit, but Steve’s would.

He walks over to a dresser on the far side of the room.  He has spare clothes for all the other Avengers there, both uniform and civilian; it was an idea that start with Bruce and his propensity for destroying shirts as part of official business, but given the rate they all went through threads, it just started to make sense.  If Tony kept more of Steve’s clothes in the penthouse dresser than anyone else’s, well, that was no one’s business but his own.

Fuck off.

Tony crams more clothing into the bag for Cage without looking at it.  Probably flannels and jeans, which a part of him would love to see Cage rock, but he doesn’t pay enough attention to really know.  Can’t bring himself to.

“This is a crazy view,” Cage is saying from the living room.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this high before--sweet Jesus!”  There’s a crash and a thud, the sounds, in order, of glass shattering and a body hitting the floor.  Tony’s head whips up; he rushes back towards the source.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sight that greets him.  Cage lies prone, back against the floor-to-ceiling window, the remains of a crystal glass surrounding him, eyes staring wide at a bright red head coming out of the floor.

“Oh my god,” Tony says.

Vision turns his head. “Tony,” he says, rising further into the room.  Tony watches as his torso slowly reveals itself, followed by his legs. “Hello.”

“V, my guy, my man, we’ve talked about this. You’ve got to learn to use the doors.”  He walks over to Cage and offers him a hand up; Cage accepts it, never once moving his eyes off Vision.  “Especially when there’s company over.”

“I was going to, but I wanted to make sure I caught you before you left, and this seemed the quickest way.  FRIDAY mentioned you weren’t planning on staying long.”

“She’s just a regular tattletale, isn’t she,” Tony mutters under his breath.  Louder, gesturing to the glass on the floor, he says, “FRIDAY, can you please do something about this mess?”  A pause, and then a service door opens to reveal DUM-E holding a broom and dustpan.  Tony narrows his eyes.  “You’re on thin ice, young lady.”

Regardless of his personal feelings on the matter, DUM-E sets to work sweeping the glass up ( _ you only have one arm _ , Tony thinks,  _ how are you going to get it into the pan?  This is ridiculous _ ) as Tony dusts Cage off.  “Don’t feel bad about the glass, I have a million and  _ somebody _ ,” he shoots a heated look to Vision, “should have known better than to surprise you like that.  Anyway, Cage, this is the Vision.  Viz, this is Luke Cage.”

Vision tilts his head.  “I’m aware.”

Well, it’s good to see that he hasn’t lost any of his social grace.

“What are you?” Cage steps away from Tony, towards Vision.  The look on his face is cautious, but not afraid.  He’s got chutzpah for sure, Tony will give him that.

“Never heard of him?” he asks,  “I guess it’s not surprising you missed him while at Seagate.  We tried to keep him under wraps for a long time, and there still aren’t a lot of details widely known about him.  Mostly because we don’t have them ourselves.” 

“Indeed, your question is a complicated one.” Vision stays ever placid.  “The simplest answer is to say that I am an android, which is a true but not complete response.  There is much about my creation that remains murky at best.”

Tony walks past Cage to lean against Vision’s shoulder, pointing at the gem in his forehead.  “The big kicker is he powered by magic, which, and you can quote me on this, is bullshit.”

“As we learned from Mr. Odinson, magic is just a system of science we have yet to unravel.”  Vision’s expression approaches annoyed at his admittance to a human weakness. “Actually, Tony, that is what I wished to discuss with you.  I have found someone who I think might be able to help me put the equation together, and I wanted to ask your permission to seek him out for a consultation.”

Tony takes pity on DUM-E and crouches down to hold the dustpan while the bot sloppily pushes glass into it with the broom.  “You know, I’m not actually your dad.  You’re a grown . . . robot, you can make your own decisions.”

“Yes, of course, but . . .”  Vision avoids his gaze, and isn’t that an interesting learned habit.  “Dr. Strange is an unusual man, from what I gather, and I thought it might be prudent to show some extra caution before engaging with him.”

Tony snorts.  “Seriously?  Strange?  Where’d you find this guy, Cirque de Soleil?”  He didn’t, of course; Tony knows this well.  Ever since Steve mentioned his name coming up as a target for Project Insight, Tony has had his eye surreptitiously on Stephen Strange, but outside a ridiculous name and a considerable talent for surgery, Tony can’t find anything all that special about him.  Then again, if Vision wants to see him about magic, maybe he hasn’t been looking hard enough.

Well.  Another problem for another time.

He dumps the glass in the trash bin.  “I’ll leave you to it.  I trust you, against my better judgment.”  He glances at Cage.  “You okay?”

Cage laughs.  “If bullets can’t hurt me, glass isn’t about to do anything.”

“Anyway,” Tony says, “We have our own mission to worry about, so you do you.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”  Vision peers at Cage and floats over to him.  “I must admit that I am concerned about the journey you are about to embark on.  I wonder if I might be more help aiding you in your goals rather than pursuing my own at this juncture.  I worry about your health and safety.”

Cage holds his gaze steadily. 

“We’re trying to be lowkey here.  Subtle.  Under the radar.”  Tony gestures to, well, everything that makes up the Vision--the synthetic red skin, the infinity gem, the cape.  “No offense, buddy, but you’re, uh, not so well-suited to stealth.”

Vision frowns down at himself.  “No, I suppose not.”  Resigned, he turns back to Cage.  “Can I trust you, then, to take care of Mr. Stark in my absence?”

Cage looks at Tony. “Do I get a dowry for this at any point?”

“Ha!  Three pigs, the finest on my meemaw’s farm.”  He slaps Cage on the shoulder, and the impact sends a shudder up his whole arm.  That bulletproof deal is no joke.  He walks back to the bedroom to grab the duffel bag and hauls it over his shoulder.   When he returns to the living room, Vision and Cage are where he left them, subtly examining each other.  “Alright,” he says, “I’ve got enough clothing here to last both of us a week or so, and the basic toiletries.  Anything else you need?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Cage walks over to the bar, grabs the bottle of Diva, and stuffs it into the bag with a grin Tony can’t help but match.

“Truly, a man after my own heart.”  He looks back to the AIs.  “Alright kids, we’re heading out.  Be good while daddy’s gone.”  More seriously, he says, “V, keep me updated on the Strange situation.  If anything comes up, call FRIDAY.”

Vision nods his regal head. “Of course, Tony.  Travel safe.”

Tony nods in return.  He doesn’t want it to be, but things are still weird between him and Vision at times.  He has both too much and too little of JARVIS in him, and it’s just the wrong side of uncanny valley to leave Tony unsettled much of the time.  He’s working on it.

He and Cage enter the penthouse elevator, and the doors close shut on the life he used to live.  

“FRIDAY, garage please.”

“Going down.”

Tony shifts back and forth on his feet, juggling the weight of the duffel bag between his shoulders before settling on placing it on the floor.  “So.  You really don’t mind going back to New Jersey?”

Cage sighs.  “I mean, it’s not ideal.”

Tony thinks about going back to Afghanistan in the first suit, the raw emotion the fueled him going there and drained him coming back.  “No, it’s not ideal,” he says.

“But . . . if there really is something we can learn there, then I don’t think we have a choice.”

“No,” Tony agrees as the doors open, “we don’t.  Well, I don’t.  I just.  I want to very clear with you, again, you are under no obligation to do any of this with me.  You’re a free man, you can make your own choices--”

“Hey.”  Cage silences him with a firm hand on his shoulder.  The weight of it alone stops Tony in place.  “I told you, I have my reasons.  I’m in this now, and I’m here to see it through.  So relax.  Please.”

Okay.  Tony breathes.  Okay.

He leads Cage past a long line of cars, each more impressive than the last.  He stops in front of a bright red Ferrari F12 and slings the duffel bag into the trunk before sliding into the driver’s seat.  He sends an impatient stare Cage’s way when he pauses to admire the sleek design.

“I thought we were going for subtle?” he says at last.

Tony smiles and shrugs a shoulder.  “My other car is a super suit.”

Cage shakes his head, but slides into the passenger seat next to him.


End file.
